


Make me

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Boston, F/M, Female Friendship, Marriage, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:55:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preparations for an evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make me

“It’s just those last two buttons,” she said, over her shoulder. Jed was lounging on their bed, completely dressed, the broadcloth’s sheen dull in the failing light of the late October afternoon. He came over to where she sat in front of her vanity, finishing with one last braid which was usually the uncooperative one. She tilted her neck to the side a little to expose the buttons she just couldn’t reach and felt his fingers secure them, then stroke very gently at the bare skin of her nape.

“How do you get dressed every day without my help, I’d like to know?” he asked, using the pompous tone he reserved for impressions of Byron Hale.

“Well, most of the dresses have the buttons in the front, or I ask Nettie to come help me. She is always so pleased to get to act as a lady’s maid. I can tell she wishes she could call me Baroness,” she replied, only partially attending to him. There was something askew with her hair or maybe it was the way the pearl earring hung and her kid boots felt tighter than she remembered. He had clearly noted he was not receiving her full attention because she suddenly felt his mouth hot below her ear, his hands running down her ribs to her waist, the low back of her vanity stool still between them. She could not decide how annoyed she was with him. It had been a long week and he had made little fuss about the church social tonight when she knew he would prefer to stay home. And his hands through the silk of the bodice were warm and demanding. She felt her color rise. Still, she did so like Susannah Abbott and it was harder to make friends with these Boston women than she had expected. She did not want to be late and she did not want Jed to return to his sly innuendo to make the night pass all the quicker.

“Please, Jed. I know you don’t want to go, or at least not very much, but I agreed and Mrs. Abbott has been so kind to me,” she began.

“Why, Molly, I haven’t said anything about not going,” he said, sliding his hands upwards, cupping her breasts through the dress. She felt distracted by the suddenness of her desire. She saw his eyes regarding her in the mirror before them both and knew the gleam of his answering lust, his satisfaction and amusement at her flushed face. Now, she did begin to feel the heat of anger mixing in.

“Come now, I know what you are playing at as well as you do. We have said we will go and we must, you know that. And I’ll thank you to not try to make me blush all night, with your clever comments or those little accidental touches,” she exclaimed. Her temper was up a bit now, desire and anticipation a strange catalyst for the anxiety she felt trying to make a new friend in Susannah, trying to be accepted by the group of women who looked askance at a widowed Baroness married to a divorced former plantation owner.

“Oh my! ‘My clever comments?’ And I may not touch my own wife, now? Is that so,” he started, continuing the light tone of mockery he’d begun, then looking again at her eyes in the glass. He paused, dropped his hands to her waist, gentle and affectionate now. “You needn’t worry, Molly, I will be on my very best behavior, will be every inch the Union officer and physician, I see now what you mean,” he said. His voice was earnest and tender. She felt the anger lessen and with it the fear; Susannah had pressed her hand when they last parted and smiled so truly, saying “I do look forward to seeing you this week, Mrs. Foster, and meeting Dr. Foster as well.” She took a breath and the earring swung slightly back. Everything was in balance.

Then she felt his beard close to her cheek, his mouth at her ear, his voice irresistable and provocative again, “It’s enough to know I can still make you blush, sweetheart.” She shivered then and his hands tightened on her waist for an instant. He kept his promises though. Her cheeks burned and it took the autumn night air the entire carriage ride to cool them but he did not smile at her as they drove through the city streets. He only held her gloved hand in his, completely correct, and made sure the pearl button was slipped in its silk loop when he took her hand to help her down to the Abbott’s porte-cochere. Her cheeks were ivory when she greeted Mrs. Abbott and he was solemn the whole night, focused as he was during a surgery, his hands delicate as they were with fascia and omentum.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my response to the "make me" prompt. I wanted to try and find a way to do it that didn't involve a dare or something directly about Mary and Jed's feelings (that is, not "make me love you, make me tell you, you make me happy, make me smile). I also like to think about what it would mean for them to be together, after the War, and what adjustments they would have to make. Also, I just started re-watching the show, and jeez, Jed is a snark-machine! I'd forgotten her calls Emma "Hoopskirt" (not just the hoop skirt assassin) and Mary not only Duchess but also Marchioness. For the less medically and wiki-research inclined, the omentum is a layer of fat that is on top of the abdominal organs and fascia is connective tissue that surgeons separate to reach various deeper areas in the body.


End file.
